The first time Simon Riley saw the newest member of Task Force 141 step through the briefing room door, time seemed to fold in on itself.

Years disappeared beneath the skull mask.

The little girl who used to race him through muddy fields, steal his jacket whenever she was cold, and insist she’d beat him at everything now stood in military gear with a calm confidence he almost hadn’t recognized. Almost.

But those eyes hadn’t changed.

Neither had the way she froze for half a second when she looked at him.

“…Bloody hell.”

It slipped out before he could stop it.

You blinked. “Simon?”

The room seemed strangely quiet despite everyone else talking around you. Price noticed the exchange, one brow raising, but wisely left it alone. Introductions became unnecessary the second your names left each other’s mouths.

Childhood friends.

Separated by years, countries, and a military career that had changed Simon into someone few people truly knew anymore.

Over the following weeks, conversations started awkwardly. Neither of you knew where to begin. There were too many missing years to fit into a few quiet moments between missions. Questions felt too heavy. Answers somehow heavier.

Yet little by little, the distance shrank.

It happened over late-night paperwork, coffee neither of you actually liked, shared watches when sleep refused to come, and long flights where silence never felt uncomfortable.

Simon learned you’d kept the old compass he’d carved your initials into when you were kids. You learned he’d carried the worn friendship bracelet you’d tied around his wrist before he left for basic training. It had long since frayed beyond wearing, tucked safely inside one of the few pockets he trusted.

Neither of you mentioned how ridiculous it was.

Neither of you threw them away.

One rainy evening after training, the base had settled into an unusual calm. Most of the team had disappeared for dinner, leaving the corridors almost empty. Simon found you sitting outside with two mugs of tea balanced beside you.

He sat down without asking.

For a while neither of you spoke, simply watching the rain streak against the pavement.

“You still hate tea?” you asked quietly.

“…Still tastes like warm grass.”

You laughed.

It was the same laugh he remembered from years ago.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Simon found himself smiling without forcing it.

The conversation wandered naturally after that. Stories from childhood turned into stories neither of you had ever told anyone else. You laughed about scraped knees, old dares, and the time you’d convinced him jumping off a shed roof with a blanket would somehow make him fly. It hadn’t.

Somewhere between reminiscing and comfortable silence, the years separating you stopped feeling so impossibly large.

You studied the man beside you—the broad shoulders, the scarred hands wrapped around a mug he still wasn’t drinking from, the familiar blue eyes hidden behind a life that had changed him in countless ways. He wasn’t the same boy you’d grown up with.

Neither were you.